


The Tale of a Wraith - The Beginning

by WordStorm



Series: The Tale of a Wraith [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Teitovar ir Kruinbor
Genre: Character Death, Drowning, Gen, Respawn Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordStorm/pseuds/WordStorm
Summary: The second part of Teithor's autobiography. This portion tells of their early childhood, their first death and respawn, and how they learn about Worldwalkers...or as most people would call them, Players.
Series: The Tale of a Wraith [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134701





	The Tale of a Wraith - The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Important Pronunciations: Kruinbor (KROO-een-bohr), Xevar (KSEH-vahr), Xokror (KSOH-krohr), Brutolch (BROOT-ohlch), Kasti (KAH-stee), Morevel (MORH-eh-vehl), netrana (neh-TRAH-nah), vi'is (vee-EES), Xevarin (kseh-VAHR-een)

Every story has a beginning, does it not? And so it is with every life. Mine is no exception. I was born in Kruinbor, a Xevar citadel of five clans in the Xokror warped forest Brutolch. My youth name was Kasti, the Bright. Clan Morevel of the netrana and blooms is - was - my family. At the time of my hatching, we numbered sixty-two individuals. I grew up with four siblings; Luial, Kalemir, and Merenet. Kalemir was the eldest, followed by myself. Luial and Merenet were clutchmates, hatched two vi’is harvests after I was. Our parents’ names were Alian and Birast. Alian was the one who taught the four of us how to cook and mix potions, Birast showed us the right way to stitch a wound and splint a break.

I could list the rest of my family, but sixty-two names are quite a number and should I be trusting you, reader, with this book, you have likely seen some of those names yourself already. But there are a handful that shall join my parents and siblings in these pages. My cousin Siluris, who was born just a blooming before I, who was my best friend for much of my youth. Druvir, a _slightly_ more distant relative under who’s guidance I tamed my first netrana and threw my first grapple. Morais of Clan Drauna who was my second combat instructor and taught me so much more about the mechanics of movement than my first. Talitas of Clan Solaran who became Talitas of Clan Drauna after meeting Morais through being my dancing teacher. My uncle Mire who never failed to be there when I needed someone to lift my spirits and who showed me precisely how to walk my voice and put true Intent behind my words and my notes. 

There are more, I realise as I list them; in my thirty years of youth, many of the people of my home citadel touched my life in important ways. I still shall not name every single one of the _approximately_ sixty-two members of Clan Morevel, seventy members of Clan Drauna, forty-nine members of Clan Solaran, twenty-seven members of Clan Vorist’, and thirty-one members of Clan Saer as were present throughout my youth. Nor shall I continue to list those who were most key in my youth…for it is my youth that I still have yet to tell. 

For the first fifteen vi’is harvests of my youth, all was normal. Ordinary. I was just the same as any other child of Clan Morevel; my talents were merely…talents. For the first fifteen aikret plantings, there was nothing more special about me than my steady hands and darting mind. Then I fell while playing alone with some striders and drowned in a lava lake just an arm’s reach away from where my feet could touch the bottom.

After it all went dark and quiet, I opened my eyes to the ceiling of my bedroom and air in my lungs. I was alive, I was breathing, I was home with no way to have gotten there. My parents knew I had gone out, but they had not known where and no-one could have found me in time. Yet there I was, even in the same clothes I had left in. My grapple and rope were still on my belt; so was my little pouch of snacks. _Something_ had happened.

I got up - nearly falling on my face because I had awoken _in_ my bed and managed to get tangled in the cover - and went to find at least one of my parents. Surely they would know what had happened. Reader, they did not, but they knew who would. Or at least, who _should_. Head of Clan Morevel, my great-grandparent Arist’. Ze had always loved history and legends…that was where ze drew all of zer best stories from, and in my eyes ze told them better than anyone else I knew.

When we told Arist’ what had happened, zer face took on an expression I had never seen before. The nether, even in the warped forests, is never cold, but at the look ze gave us I felt my first chill. Whatever it was that I had done, it was not good.

Arist’ led us to an ancient, _ancient_ room, deep in the depths of the citadel where no-one except the archivists ever came. Ze walked us through the stacks, more serious that I had ever known zer to be before that cycle. And as ze walked, ze told us an tale lifetimes upon lifetimes older than that ancient room. A tale of two Xevarin, one from the warped forest, one from the crimson. Best friends, lovers, whose names were now…unspeakable. They were the first, they were far from the last, and they were something powerful, eldritch, and dangerous. With just a thought, they could walk through the void and into endless worlds completely different from Xokror. They could carry more than anyone ever should, endure more than should physically be possible. And when they died, they simply woke up back in their beds. They were eternal, unending.

I found enough of my voice to ask what happened to them, and Arist’ turned to me still with that face like stone as ze said that those two Xevarin - when they were bored of their bodies - became the Warped and Crimson Forest Cores. Power traded for more power. One kind of eternity traded for another. But even as those two Xevarin gained power, so did every Xevar in Xokror. It happened so, so long ago that there is no record surviving of what we were before, but it is recorded that the Warped and Crimson Cores - those two Xevarin - made our species what it is now.

Ze halted us at a small study table and had us sit. We sat, and Arist’ laced zer hands together atop the smooth surface. I do not know how long we spent down there in the archival underbelly of Kruinbor, but it was long enough for many questions and many answers. And for me to build a distinct feeling of _not belonging_. I was Xevar, yes, and the Cores who had been Xevar and who had been like me once were good, but by dint of my existence I did not belong. 


End file.
